The Next Chapter
I don’t know what happened to the suitcase that gave birth to me. It got soaked through as Dad traipsed around with it for hours on end. When it dried, he kept different things in it. Tools, then bottles for the recyclers; once he even used it to bring back some meat wrapped in paper, and this left a stain of beef blood behind, on the bottom. My Dad respected cows and loved pigs. Just like I do. I lost track of the suitcase when I was eleven. My Dad threw it away. Or maybe he burned it. Maybe it just decomposed in the rain somewhere behind the barn.
